


Man Down

by CelestialVoid



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Happy Ending, How Do I Tag, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9178801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: His body was trembling, heat draining from his wounds and soaking the coarse cotton fibres of his flight jacket. Hot streams of blood trickled across his body, caressing his flushed tan skin. Each drop drummed against the crumpled metal sheets, echoing in his ears like war drums. His eyelids felt heavy, dark lashes fluttering as he fought back the growing darkness and the promising warm embrace of sleep.“Mayday,” he rasped. He coughed, spluttering blood and saliva across his thick, padded vest. Stings of blood dripped from his lips, rolling down his chin and dripping against the upturned palm of his numb, unmoving hand. “Mayday.”His body fell weak, slumping against his harness.He’ll come, he told himself. He’ll come.He felt the cold darkness roll in, dragging him away from his world.“Somebody… please… help.”





	1. [1]

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't be mad at me.  
> I'm going through my computer and clearing out old works that I haven't posted yet, have given up on or feel like they weren't finished and felt like putting this one up.  
> At some point in time I was going to build upon it and make it more of a story, but I just settled to leave it as is, so sorry if it feels like it's incomplete: that's just how it is.  
> Regardless, I hope you like it.

“Mayday.”

His voice weak and hoarse, tearing at his dry throat and emptying his lungs as he wheezed, “Mayday. Man down.”

His head lolled back against the cradle of the headrest. His eyes fluttered as he tried to steady himself. He blinked against the haze whish swept over the world. He could only hear his breath as it rolled through his lungs, his blood thumping against his ears as if to mock the canon fire of a battle.

“This is Black Leader. I’ve been shot down, my instruments are broken and my emergency systems have been compromised. I am in need of medical attention. I do not have a read on my co-ordinates but if you are reading this, please respond.”

He could hear the desperation in his voice, the soft, pained sob that followed his words. The grainy scent of sand and the metallic scent of blood swirled in his nostrils. Bile burnt at his throat as he fell into shock. His shallow breaths drew cold air into his lungs as he prepared himself to look down and assess his condition. He dropped his chin to his chest, his heavy eyes falling upon the open gashes of his skin. His olive skin was soaked with crimson blood, pieces of crumpled metal digging into his flesh. He tried to move but couldn’t his arms numb, legs pinned down by the crumpled control board and his side impaled by rigid metal. The sensation of numbness was disconcerting, but as his eyes rolled over his body he realised that as soon as it faded he would be in searing agony and it would be best to appreciate the feeling of detachment while it lasts.

Ruby red droplets glistened on his skin – caressing his pores and mingling with sweat and grime as blue sparks fluttered around him, frayed electrical wire reaching out for him like the jagged claws of a Rancor.

The X-wing’s cockpit had completely caved around him, encasing him in a metal coffin.

Suddenly the bliss of numbness washed away, a wave of burning anguish tearing through him. He bit into his lip, the bitter metallic taste of blood filling his mouth as he whimpered in pain. Tears stung at his eyes as he waited for the next wave of adrenaline for flood his veins and cool his blood.

His right arm twitched, the muscles straining to move. A thick gash tore open his forearm but he could still move the limb. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he lifted his arm and slapped at the buckle of his harness. He pressed his slender, blood-soaked fingers against the buckle but the clasp wouldn’t release.

_This is where I’ll die_ , he thought to himself.

His body was trembling, heat draining from his wounds and soaking the coarse cotton fibres of his flight jacket. Hot streams of blood trickled across his body, caressing his flushed tan skin. Each drop drummed against the crumpled metal sheets, echoing in his ears like war drums. His eyelids felt heavy, dark lashes fluttering as he fought back the growing darkness and the promising warm embrace of sleep.

“Mayday,” he rasped. He coughed, spluttering blood and saliva across his thick, padded vest. Stings of blood dripped from his lips, rolling down his chin and dripping against the upturned palm of his unmoving hand. “Mayday.”

His body fell weak, slumping against his harness.

_He’ll come_ , he told himself. _He’ll come_.

He felt the darkness roll in, dragging him away from his world.

“Somebody… please… help.”

 

 

“It was a simple surveillance op, one that should have ended hours ago. Something’s gone wrong. And by the rules of the base, we have twenty-four hours to find him before he is presumed dead and left out in the desert and you’re telling me that I should just sit here and do nothing?!” Finn hollered, arms flailing about as he paced back and forth across the small room. “Nobody’s doing anything to help him. Nobody’s looking for him. Nobody’s _trying_.”

Rey looked at him, hazel eyes glistening as she realised she would never have the right words. As much as she disliked Poe, she never wished him harm. Nor would she ever wish to see Finn so pained.

“I can’t just stay here and wait,” Finn growled. “I’m stuck here thinking about every horrific possibility. He could be hurt. He could have crashed, he could have been shot, or he could be injured badly and bleeding out or dying. He could be under attack. Or taken prisoner. He could be being tortured as we speak. I can’t-” His voice faltered as he bit into his quivering lip. “I can’t detach myself from this. I can’t just hold my breath and hope.”

He raked his fingers through his short cropped hair, dragging his fingers down his face. His breath came shallow as fear seeped into his veins and undeniable tears blurred his vision.

“It pains me to admit it but Poe is a strong man, a good pilot and a halfway-decent soldier. Whatever he’s going through, he’ll make it through it.”

Finn let Rey’s words sink into him, his shoulders dropping as the muscles relaxed and his breathing slowed. He lowered his head, inhaling the faint scent of Poe’s natural muck that lingered on the worn leather jacket; the faint fragrance of his primal sweat and the soft trail of indistinguishable smells that mingled perfectly to make something that was distinctly Poe.

“He’s as irritating as an ewok,” Rey muttered under her breath, obviously not quiet enough because Finn chuckled in response. Rey lifted her soft hazel eyes to him as she continued, “But no one can deny that he certainly has the endurance of one. He’ll be okay,” she assured him. “You just have to hold your head high for now, grit your teeth against the unknown and hope that good news comes our way soon. For all we know Poe could be dragging his sorry ass back here as we speak.”

Finn’s eyes darkened, lit by glistening tears. He turned his face into the shadows, his calloused fingers caressing the worn tan leather of his jacket - - Poe’s old jacket - - and he whispered, “I hope so.”

 

 

Poe stirred back to consciousness, the white noise of the crackling radio swirling in his ears. He shuddered, his body quivering as he grew colder, his forearms and fingertips icy cold and blue lips trembling with shaky breaths. He blinked heavily, moaning as he reached forward for what remained of the control board He moved his trembling fingers across the controls, pressing buttons and flipping switches. Chittering clicks and wailing beeps rang in his ears. A few lights lit up, others flickered or exploded, bulbs shattering and scattering tinkling shards of glass.

“Mayday. This is Black Leader, broadcasting on all frequencies. I’ve been shot down, my ship is in ruins, and I am in need of medical attention. If you reading this, please respond.”

He waited, listening to the silent sand dunes around him and the crackle of static in his headset. The desert sun bore down on him, his sweat stinging his tone flesh as small, salty beads formed on his skin, rolling through his hairs and into his wounds.

“Please… someone… respond,” he pleaded.

A wave of burning agony rolled over his body, silencing him as he gasped and sputtered, blood dripping from his lips. He heaved in shallow, shuddering breaths.

He tore at a shred of his shirt, folding the cotton and setting it between his teeth. The sweat-soaked fabric was bitter but held strong as he bit into it. He drew his blaster from its holster. He turned to the side, feeling the splintered edges of his bones tear at the tissue of his insides and shreds of metal burrow deeper inside of him. He gritted his teeth and reached his arm out behind him. He fired the blaster, an unrestrained cry tearing at his throat as the recoil jolted his shoulder, a fresh stream of blood flowing from his wounds. He pulled his arm back, pressing the barrel of his blaster against the open gash of his leg. He bit into the cotton strip, screaming into the makeshift gag. His muffled cry emptied his lungs, leaving him breathless and his mind spinning as the heated barrel of his blaster seared the wound shut.

He dropped the gun into his lap, heaving in rugged breaths. The cloth dropped from his lips. He let his head rock back against the headrest as the icy hold of the dark abyss beckoned him. The constant, throbbing pain in his side sent another wave of fear and pain through his body, but not enough to wash away the cascading wave of fatigue but just enough for him to realise his mortality.

“Please,” he muttered, his strength draining from him. He watched the white clouds of his breath swirl about in the air before his face, the crisp cold of the desert night rolling over him. His eyelids fell shut. “I don’t want to die.”

 

 

Finn rolled over to the edge of his bunk and hung his head in his hands. He was tired, yes, but the tangle of fear that knotted his gut drove away every hope of peaceful sleep.

He sighed, dragging his hands down his face.

He rose, staggering sightly as he tried to find his balance, his head spinning and heavy eyes taking a moment to adjust and focus on the small confines of his quarters. He dragged his feet to the door, listening to the pistons hiss as it slid open. He stepped into the hallway, stopping beneath the flickering light. His steps faltered and he fell still, scuffing the worn heels of his boots on the smooth flooring. He turned to look down the hallway.

Something was wrong.

The usually luminescent hallway was dark. All the lights were out, leaving an inky black abyss to drag its way towards him. Flickering shadows reached from him, hissing and gargling like a rabid beast out for his blood, but it fell away at the edge of the light like a wave against the shore. It rose like a wall towering over him.

“Finn?” a weak voice called from the shadows behind him.

Finn turned, eyes falling on a bloody figure slumped against the wall. His dark eyes were glazed and fading, his gaze locked on him. Dark lashes fluttered as he struggled to keep his eyes open. The soft tufts of his thick brown hair had been tossed about, clinging to the wet trails of blood and sweat that smeared across his brow. His rough stubble framed his full, chapped lips, thin streams of crimson blood dripping from his chin. His broad jaw hung weak as he tried to draw steady breaths. He coughed and sputtered, thick streams of saliva and blood fell from his lips, splattering across the floor. His head lolled forward, ruby red gem-like droplets falling in slow motion and shattering against the pale linoleum flooring. Thick red smears stained his flight suit, seeping into the rough orange cotton of his jacket and soaking through the thick white padded vest like dye diffusing in water.

“Poe?” Finn whispered, his voice breaking as his blood cooled.

Poe shivered, his raspy breath thinning as his limbs shook violently before falling still. The shadows crawled forward, consuming him.

“Poe!”

Finn leapt off his feet and sprinted towards him. His boots slipped about on the linoleum, making him stumble slightly.

His steps carried him nowhere. The flickering light following him. His breath was shallow, his heart pounding against the jail bars of his ribs. He felt tears of frustration brew in his eyes as every strep he took put more and more distance between them. He ran fasters, screaming incomprehensibly as he reached out for Poe his body dragged away by the darkness. The muscles in his legs burnt as he ran as fast as he could, but it made no difference.

“Poe!” he cried as the shadows snagged at his ankles, inky black tendrils tearing at his skin and tripping him. His body hit the floor with a heavy thud, tears splashing against the linoleum as he watched Poe disappear in the darkness. The fingers which clawed at the floor fell still, trembling as he accepted his demise. He sighed, emptying his lungs as black liquid flooded his world.

He jolted upright, coughing and spluttering as a cold sweat rolled over his body.

He bounced off of his bunk, tugging his sweat-soaked grey singlet off before donning his usual attire; black shirt, Poe’s jacket, black pants and thick boots. He collected a carry bag from the floor of his closet, shoving a blanket, some food rations and a bottle of water into it. He zipped the bag shut and slung it over his shoulder, collecting his lightsaber from the benchtop beside his bed and fastening it to his belt before scurrying towards the door. It slid open and he yelped at the figure before him.

“Are you okay?” Rey asked, a little confused as to why she had startled him so much.

“Fine,” he replied, sliding past her and trudging into the hallway. He stopped just outside the door, his breath coming short as he glanced out the corner of his eye. He sighed, embracing the cool wave of relief that streamed through his body.

Poe wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t there.

He turned back to Rey. “Are you okay?”

She froze, hazel eyes glimmering with confusion and blinking at him. She still wasn’t used to someone showing concern for her. “Yes,” she replied, her voice breaking.

Finn tilted his head, trying to look past the barriers she had set up years ago.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

“Where are you going?” Rey inquired.

“I’m going to find Poe,” Finn replied.

“You can’t go out there without orders.”

“I have less than fourteen hours to find him before he’s considered killed in action and left to die.” Finn lowered his voice – he didn’t mean to yell. He lifted his dark eyes to Rey’s shimmering depths.

“I know he’s out there,” he said softly. “I’m not going to let him die.”

Rey looked out across the hanger bay, eyeing the sand dunes. She fell still and silent; reserved as if calculating what to do next, still confused by how alien it seemed for a person to care for another so much that they’d risk their life and limb.

Her eyes lingered on the lightening blue of the sky.

“You won’t find him before the sun comes up,” she said sorrowfully.

“I can try, which is more than I can say for anyone else around here,” Finn said with finality, marching towards the bay doors.

“That’s not what I meant,” Rey called after him.

His pace faltered. He turned back to look at her.

“I meant you won’t find him on foot,” she corrected herself. “It’d be faster if you flew.”

“I’d need a pilot.”

“You’ve got one,” Rey said with finality. She patted his shoulder. “Just give me a few minutes to collect some things and start up my engines.”

 

 

Another wave of agony woke Poe from the blissful trance of sleep. He sat up slightly, groaning. He felt the icy air of the desert night claw at his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

In the past few hours he had wavered between consciousness, using his waking time to discharge his weapon and sear shut some of his wounds. He had lost a substantial amount of blood and shock didn’t help fight the waves of anguish that made him black out every few minutes.

_One more try_. He willed his arms to move. _One more try_.

He reached forward and flipped on the controls to his outgoing communications.

“Mayday,” he croaked, voice broken by sharp gasps. “Mayday. This is Black Leader, broadcasting on all frequencies. My ship has been shot down and I am severely injured and in desperate need for medical attention. I have no water, no rations, and no medical supplies. I don’t know how long I’ve been in the desert, but it’s somewhere close to twelve hours. If you read me, respond.”

The soul-crushing hiss of static was the only reply he heard. He slammed his fist against the control panel. The light that indicated outgoing communications faded. He dropped his head and cried, a heart-breaking wail tearing at his throat as tears of helplessness fell from his eyes. Stings of saliva fell from his chapped lips. He threw his weight back against the seat, the burning agony of metal burrowing into his ribs bringing him back to his senses. His eyes burnt, tears draining him of fluids and energy.

He took a moment to steady his breathing, drawing in deep breaths and wincing at the pain of bone and metal scratching at the tissue of his lungs. He reached for the control panel, altering the positions of the switches in order to engage the recordings of the black box. The controls clunked as the gears slid into place and the machine whirred to life. A small red light lit up on the control board, indicating that the recording had begun.

He leant back slightly, his muscles weakening as he slumped against eh crumpled frame of his seat. A heavy haze smeared his vision. He blinked a few times, heaving in shaky breaths and lifting his head. His world came into focus and he cleared his throat to speak.

“My name is Poe Dameron, code name Black Leader, and this may be my final message,” his voice scraped at his dry throat as he tried as hard as he possibly could to speak clearly. “My ship was shot down while on return to the federation base and I crashed in the desert. I am in a critical condition and unable to administer medical treatment nor seek aid. In the case of my death, this message is to be passed on to Finn.” He sighed heavily. “Finn,” he continued. “I’m sorry. For what, I’m not sure, but I’m going to cover all my bases and say I’m sorry for everything.”

He felt distanced, numb, as he looked down at his own body, the light of two moons illuminating the glistening sheet of blood that covered the starchy cotton of his flight suit and the jagged strips of his flesh. He felt sick, fighting rising bile as he decided it was best not to look. He turned his gaze to the star-speckled sky, finding some strange relief in the shifting shades of blue.

“I’m dying, Finn,” he said somewhat bluntly as he finally came to term with his mortality. “And my only wish is that I could see you one last time, to thank you for showing me that I could change and for helping me be a better man and make something of myself… I’m not too proud to admit that I’m scared to die. And I don’t want to die alone. I guess if I keep talking, then I won’t be alone. You’ll be here, right?”

The recording cut out, the device clunking to a stop.

Lights began to streak as another wave of tears streamed down Poe’s cheeks, clearing paths through the dirt and blood. Thick, disgustingly sweet saliva filled his throat, choking his sobs. His lips trembled as he whispered, “I don’t want to die alone.”


	2. [2]

“This was where his last radio transmission put him,” Rey announced, slowing the ship in order to survey the surroundings. “We lost radio contact after this point. So keep an eye out.”

“What am I looking for exactly?”

“His ship, the wreckage of, or - if we’re lucky - some sign of life.”

“You think he crashed?”

“It’s a possibility,” Rey replied. She regretted the words the second they left her mouth, noticing how Finn shifted in his seat and blinked heavily as if forcing back tears she turned her eyes back to the waves of shifting sand. She straightened in her seat, perking as the lights of her ship reflected off metal plating. “There.”

She slowed the engines to a hover, flipping switches and listening to the whir of the engine as she set the ship down among the sand. Finn fumbled with his harness, thrashing about as he tried to shrug the belts off and leap to his feet. He stumbled slightly as he raced over to the ramp opening, grabbing a hold of the thick leather strap that hung above head for stability. Rey switched off the engines and lowered the ramp, whacking the palm of her hand against the buckle of her harness, listening to it rattle and clatter against the metal frame of her seat as she raced after Finn.

Finn leapt off the ramp. His boots sank into the sand, seeping up to his ankles and dragging at his feet as he trudged across the planes.

Rey sprinted to his side. Unlike Finn, she was light on her feet, prancing the rubble with an elegance and grace that should be impossible among the ever-changing sand dunes. She tossed him a small torch, switching her own torch on and turning her eyes to the scattered pieces of wreckage. The glowing beams of light coursed the sheets of metal that erupted from the sand dunes as if they had grown there.

“Try and find the identification plate,” Rey instructed. “See if it’s Poe’s ship.”

“Roger,” Finn confirmed, hurdling a large section of the metal-plated wing.

The narrow beams coursed the broken skeleton of the ship. Rey made her way across the sand dunes, stepping over buckled sheeting and metal ruins. Her torchlight swept across a large section of the ship. She crept over to what remained of the cockpit, stepping lightly on the streaming rivers of sand.

She lifted her torchlight, looking through the shattered glass panel. The shadows receded from the pale light of the torch, revealing the blood-soaked figure that lay slumped against the frame of the pilot’s seat.

“Poe?” she called.

He grimaced, dried blood cracking and flaking as his face creased. His dark eyes blinked open, squinting against the glare of the torchlight.

“I found him!” Rey called across the sand dunes.

She shoved aside panels of the X-wing, tearing away the shattered glass and crumpled metal sheets. She dropped into the confined space. She knelt before Poe, gently lifting his head with her tender fingertips.

“Poe?”

“I never thought you’d be the one to come to my rescue,” Poe groaned, eyes fluttering as dark irises emerged and focused on her soft features.

“I just flew Finn here,” she stated bluntly. Her soft hazel eyes rolled over his body, her gentle touches brushing across his exposed skin and open gashes of flesh as she checked his condition.

Poe’s weight slumped forward against the harness, his head dropping into her hands. He jolted upright again, blinking heavily.

“Stay awake,” she whispered. She glanced over her shoulder at Finn. His dark silhouette sprinted over the rise of the towering sand dune, sliding down the embankment.

Finn braced his feet against the metal frame of what remained of the cockpit.

Rey looked up at him, his scared eyes wide and white.

“He’s in a pretty bad shape,” she told him. “We’re going to have to cut the sheet of metal impaling his side in order to move him. Think you can carry him back to the ship?” she asked. He nodded in return, struggling to speak. “I’ll radio in and tell the base to prep a medical bay for our arrival. Talk to him and keep him conscious.”

Rey rose to her feet. Finn offered her a hand whish she took gratefully. He lifted her out of the tight space before sliding in and crouching before Poe. His soft eyes fell on Poe, his broad hands trembling as he moved them about the air around him, scared that he would hurt the man if he dared to touch him, or that the illusion would shatter and he would be lost forever.

“Hey, buddy,” Poe whispered, his dark brown eyes fixed on Finn’s face. Poe’s eyes rolled over Finn’s soft features: his strong jaw and full lips, his beautiful chocolate skin and his gorgeous dark eyes. He smiled weakly. “You came.”

Finn smiled, his eyes twinkling with relief as he whispered, “Of course I did.”

Poe’s smile fell as his eyes fluttered shut and his body fell forward in his harness.

“Poe?” Finn whispered, gently shaking the man. “Poe, wake up. Stay with me.”

The man didn’t stir.

Finn felt his heart sink into his stomach. His hands trembled as he cupped Poe’s cheeks and lifted his face towards the light of the torch. His lips trembled as he whimpered the man’s name over and over.

He hoped the man would stir back to consciousness or open his hazy eyes, but there was nothing.

“Poe!”


	3. [3]

Finn burst into the infirmary, setting Poe’s still body down atop the gurney. Medics bustled around him, tearing open Poe’s blood-soaked shirt and sliding the long needle of an IV into his forearm. They poured alcohol over his wounds, cleaned away the flakes of dried blood and endless streams of bitter, metallic blood that flowed and stitched his wounds back together.

“It would be best if you waited outside,” one of the medics said.

Finn met their eyes. “I’m not leaving.”

“His vitals are failing: blood pressure and heart rate are dropping rapidly,” another medic – a young woman that Finn talked to on occasion - announced. “His breathing is laboured and his organs aren’t getting enough oxygen.”

The first medic turned and ran over to the table behind Poe, collecting an oxygen mask and holding it over Poe’s face.

His weak breath misted the plastic mouth piece.

“Sir, we need to operate on him now,” the woman said firmly.

“Hold this,” the medic instructed.

Finn stepped forward and took the medic’s place, keeping the mask in place over Poe’s face. He ignored the medics as he gently stroked back the tufts blood-clotted hair that clung to Poe’s golden skin. He kept his eyes on Poe’s face, watching the man’s thin eyelashes flutter. He tried to ignore the stench of bitter blood and the sight of gore-covered gloved hands that burrowed into Poe’s flesh, removing shards of metal and glass and stitching shut the gaping wounds.

“Finish closing,” a medic instructed, his voice disturbing Finn from his thoughts. He looked up to Finn, tearing his gloves off his hands. “It’s over.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Finn asked, unable to hide the fear and worry that flooded his voice.

The man nodded, his eyes falling to Poe’s face. “He just need sleep, antibiotics and a lot of pain killers. Some of the debris has damaged his shoulder and tendons leading down to his arm so he won’t be able to move it for a few days, maybe a week or two, but he’ll recover.”

Finn nodded, turning to look at Poe.

“You can stay with him if you wish,” the medic whispered, guessing Finn thoughts.

“Thank you,” Finn replied, lowering his weight into a nearby chair and taking Poe’s slender hand in his.

Everyone left the room, leaving a peaceful quiet to roll in. Finn listened to Poe’s steady breaths, feeling his own eyelids fall shut.

Poe was alive. He was safe.

He could finally sleep.

 

 

A week had passed and Poe was on his feet once again, smiling and jesting like he usually did.

His arm was in a sling and he had been told not to use it, but he was able to move his fingers and grip things that were handed to him, so there was hope for his recovery.

“Can I have dinner in the mess hall today?” he asked Finn.

“If you feel up for it,” Finn agreed. “But you’ll have to wear more than just your robe.”

Poe frowned, a hint of confusion glimmering in his dark eyes. “Why?”

“Because as great as your ass is, there are some who don’t appreciate having it on display.”

“You have a point,” Poe admitted, stepping across the room to grab a set of clothes.

Finn turned to the table, searching the cluttered mess of medical supplies – pills, needles, and creams – for Poe’s painkillers and other medications. He stalled when he heard Poe hiss. He span around, eyes wide when he noticed Poe’s pained expression and he froze mid-disrobement.

“Whoa, whoa.” Finn raced over to his side, grabbing a hold of his arms in order to stop him. He slowly lifted Poe’s arms, his gently fingers guiding the man slowly. He dropped his hands to the man’s waist, curling his fingers beneath the hem of Poe’s thin cotton shirt. He slowly slid it up over the man’s head, letting it fall to the floor.

“There,” Finn whispered. His eyes fell to the man’s body. His golden skin was tainted by the large splatters of discoloured skin and thick bruises. He wasn’t sure whether his eyes lingered on the thick, bloody bandages or the tight seams of his muscles.

“Poe.”

His name fell breathless from Finn’s lips, his voice a mix of sorrow, empathy and he slightest hint of arousal.

“I’m fine,” Poe said, denial and painkillers flowing through his veins. “It only hurts when I breathe.”

Finn lifted his eyes, immersing himself in the warmth ebony depths of Poe’s gaze.  His eyes fluttered down to Poe’s lips, full and pink, their perfection tainted by thin cracks, coloured by clotted blood. He leant forward, their warm breaths mingling as they fell past parted lips.

“Uh.” Poe panicked, pulling back.

“I won’t hurt you,” Finn promised, his soft whisper rolling over Poe’s lips. Finn craned his neck, bringing their lips together in a tender kiss. He lifted his hand and gently cupped the back of Poe’s neck, the ball of his thumb brushing his soft hair.

Poe lifted his arms, hands grabbing fistfuls of Finn’s black shirt and pulling him closer.

Finn dropped a hand to Poe’s waist, resting his broad palm on his unbruised hip, drawing him close and enveloping him in his warmth.

Poe’s lips were chapped by soft, warm and inviting. His shoulders weakened, dropping as he tilted his chin and deepened the kiss.

As Finn drew back, Poe chased his lips.

Finn smiled and pressed another soft kiss against his lips.

“I love you,” Finn whispered.

Poe smiled, mouth moving to reply when a thought knocked the smile from his face. “I’m still naked.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I should really get dressed, but first…” He grabbed Finn’s shirt again and pulled their lips together, kissing him with passion. Finn sighed in return, weaving his fingers through the soft locks of Poe’s hair, tilting his chin and deepening the kiss. He ran his tongue across Finn’s bottom lip and moaned as he obediently opened his mouth to welcome the warmth of Poe’s tongue.

His lungs burnt so much he wanted to cry but he desperately didn’t want to let go. Giving in, Poe drew back, his rugged breath rolling over Finn’s lips as he whispered, “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


End file.
